


Lightness

by jewishfitz



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Canon Compliant, F/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 21:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10727904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewishfitz/pseuds/jewishfitz
Summary: “Oh, instincts are misleadingYou shouldn't think what you're feelingThey don't tell you what you know you should want.”





	Lightness

It had been years since he had met Jemma Simmons, and - No, years was wrong. Yes, technically it has been years, but sometimes (most times) it felt like so much longer. Years was wrong. Lifetimes, maybe. Eons, more so. Maybe even since the Big Bang itself. - but since that first moment - Well, maybe not the first moment. Not the second one, certainly. Maybe not even the third. But had been early on, somewhere between the first time they finished a lab project and the first time she fell asleep on his shoulder after watching Doctor Who - since then, he had wanted nothing more than to spend his life next to her. Nothing more than to hold onto her - her, her life, her smile, her everything - and never let go. But now? God, now. Seeing her from one barstool over, the way she looked in the dim light, shoulders slightly hunched, drink in hand, he wanted nothing more than to touch her life with sense of lightness - to barely be there, to come and go - because he could not see a future where he didn't hurt her. Didn't hurt her like this.

She had been on a date. She went on them, sometimes. They felt almost defiant, as if she was desperate to prove she was something, anything, more than a teenager in a lab. And the date had gone badly - almost all of them did. But this one seemed worse, somehow. And they had ended up here, in the boiler room. (She had burst into his room - she had the key - “Is anything wrong?”  
She paused. “Yes. God, Fitz, yes. Everything is wrong.”  
“Anything I can do?”  
“Yes. You, me. The boiler room. And a good drink, hopefully.” How could he have said no to that? How could anyone?)

She was stirring her drink in tight circles, staring straight ahead. She was not crying, no. But her eyes were watering. (It could have been the fault of the lights, this club and it's damned neon lights.) He knew her - knew her enough - to know that her silence was worth more than a thousand tears could express.  
“What happened?” He asked.  
“We broke up,” she said. She did not break eye contact with her own reflection, who stared her down from across the bar.  
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.  
She sighed. “Not particularly.” She paused. “We just… we weren't compatible.”  
He nodded understandingly. (He didn't understand, not quite. No, not at all)  


She was different, that night. He would blame it on the neon lights, the way they made her almost glow, the way they made the edges of her face soft and blurry. He would blame it on the fact that she was wearing her favorite dress, the blue one that made her look like a mirage. He would blame it on the small tear in its side, which he desperately tried to ignore, but continued to draw his eyes. She looked different, and for a moment, he wondered if he loved her. He shook his head, desperately trying to free himself of these thoughts, the thoughts that would descended upon his brain sometimes when she bested him in class, or when she was reading her favorite book, or when the light hit her just right. (He would never be free, and the tiniest piece of him knew that.)

“Jemma,” he said, softly. For a moment, he wondered if she had even heard him above the music and the noise. (He used her name sparingly. He thought that if he said it too much, too often, the magic it carried might fade) But she turned to face him. It took him a minute to continue. (It was those damn neon lights, and the way they made her eyes shine.) “I'm always here, you know? If you need to talk.”  
She nodded, slowly. “Thank you, Fitz. I mean it.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. (Her touch burned at first. It always did. But it turned to warmth, soon enough.)  
He smiled. “That doesn't mean you don't owe me for dragging me to a bar at 2 a.m.”  
She laughed. (He loved it when she laughed. It made him feel at home. It made him feel alive.) “Alright Fitz, I owe you one.”  
He thought for a moment. “Okay. How does re-watching 2001: A Space Odyssey sound?”  
She groaned, and rolled her eyes. “Fitz, that movie is utterly incomprehensible.”  
“That's what makes it so great! And what's better than an incomprehensible movie at 2 in the morning?” (He was trying to lighten the mood. Not just hers, but his as well. The way she looked, he felt like he was drowning. Those damn lights.)  
“Fine,” she said. He grinned. “Let me just finish my drink.”  


He nodded. She looked at him, and smiled. (It was a soft smile, not like the blinding ones when she finally understood a chemistry problem. Not like the ones that made him feel as if he were trying to look at the sun. This one was like starlight. He wanted to live in this moment, live by the light of that impossibly soft smile.)  
She held out her glass. “Cheers, Fitz.”  
He smiled back at her. (He didn't know, not then, that she wished the same. That she loved the softness of his eyes, and the way they shone through the dim light. That she wanted to bottle up that happiness inside of them, and keep it forever. That she blamed the tears and the alcohol for the way her stomach flipped when he looked at her. That she wanted to live in this moment forever. Forever)  
“Cheers, Simmons.”

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song "Lightness" by Death Cab For Cutie


End file.
